


Where the Clouds Live

by casey270



Category: Isaac Carpenter (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Public Sex, Unintentional drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casey270/pseuds/casey270
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac saves Tommy from being used as a human sex toy on the dance floor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Clouds Live

**Author's Note:**

> [valress](http://valress.livejournal.com/) made the most amazing mix for this. It's [here](http://valress.livejournal.com/77724.html). It fits the feeling of the fic so well that I had it on constantly when I was editing. 
> 
> Thank you, [rhiannab2](http://rhiannanb2.livejournal.com/) for the beta work. All remaining mistakes are because I can't leave things alone and went in and changed things after she finished fixing them.
> 
> This was written for the [TJRBB](http://tjrbigbang.livejournal.com/). Thanks to great mods, this was so much fun to participate in.

[](http://s557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/casey270/tjrbb/?action=view&current=wherethecloudslive1.jpg)

The show is hot and slick. The band is tight, the music’s loose, and Adam’s fucking voice is going places Tommy never even imagined before. It’s one of those shows where everything clicks so damn hard that it thunders through the universe, or at least that’s how it feels when they’re standing under the lights, feeling the crowd’s approval coming back in waves that crash into them, never pulling them down, but lifting them into that particular high that only comes from fucking perfection.

Being so deep in the moment and in the music is the best foreplay Tommy’s ever known. It gets him in the pit of his stomach every time. Like fucking butterflies or some shit. Then it works its way down to his dick, and by the time the show‘s over, he’s so fucking hard he can’t wait to get a hand on himself. If it wasn’t for the tech reaching out for his guitar, Tommy might forget himself and get off right there.

Tommy wanders off stage, still so damned dazed from the music. When the music is this perfect, this personal, it brings everything into crystal clarity. All of them know that this is a special time, a time to party and bask in the glow, and when someone presses a glass to his hand, he doesn’t question it. He just drinks. 

They keep the party going at some trendy, exclusive club du jour. Adam’s a fucking star, and there’s no question about getting in wherever they decide to go. Tommy’s a little drunk, a little high, and he smiles a secret smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he thinks that he’d never be able to get past the door kings at a club like this on his own, pink or purple hair or whatever, but Adam’s magic, and nobody turns him away.

People who are _SOMEBODY_ \- yeah, Tommy’s mind thinks the word in italics and all caps and maybe even puts air quotes around it - want to talk to him and buy him drinks. Tommy’s not fucking stupid. He knows it’s because of Adam. If he hadn’t walked in with Adam’s entourage, they’d all be avoiding him, looking down at him and his attempts to fit in.

But now they’re all sucking up, hoping to use him to get just a little closer to Adam. Maybe they only want to be close enough to see the cracks in his armor; maybe they want to be there when he falls apart. Tommy knows that Adam’s fucking stronger and tougher than any of them give him credit for. They won’t get what they want, but Tommy’s sure as shit gonna let them keep kissing his ass and buying him expensive booze.

And they do buy him drinks. Lots and lots of drinks. So many drinks that he can’t remember how many there have been or when he started. There’s more than drinks going around, though. Tommy usually avoids the harder shit. It messes with his already fucked up mind too much. But when the wannabe starlet who’s been all up in his business all night grabs his ass and sticks her tongue so far down his throat he thinks he’s gonna swallow it, he doesn’t have a chance to spit out whatever it is that she pushed in his mouth first. 

He tries his best to give her a withering stank face, but with all the alcohol in his body, it only makes him go crosseyed and a little dizzy. The pretty little bottle-blond’s smile has a hard edge when she runs her hand down Tommy’s cheek. “Thank me later, baby. Come see me when it kicks in.”

Tommy watches her walk away, the exaggerated sway of her hips a trick her acting coaches taught her, he thinks. He can still feel the aura of predatory desperation she left behind, and it makes him shiver, but he’s not sure if he’s shivering from relief or if it’s a shiver of want. 

He thinks it’s maybe time to go before he follows her and starts something he really doesn’t want to finish. He can see Isaac and Ashley talking in a corner across the room, and he wonders why they seem so much further away now. He starts making his way around the edges of the room because he wants to avoid the groups and crowds of people further in, but it’s a long fucking route, and he only manages a few steps before he stumbles over someone’s foot. 

He feels strong hands steadying him before he falls, though. He looks up to see a broad chest and blues eyes, and for a second he thinks it’s Adam and relaxes against the person holding him. But when he hears a voice saying, “Careful, little man. Some people here wouldn’t have a problem taking advantage of someone in your condition,” he knows it’s not Adam. Adam’s never called him _little_ anything before, and Adam’s sure as hell never touched him the way this dude’s doing. 

Tommy wants to tell the man with the eyes and the hands all over him to back the fuck off, but something won’t let him, or won’t help him form the words right in his mind. Instead, he feels himself arching into the touch, feeling the hands run all the way down his back and cup his ass. Those hands feel strong and warm, and Tommy thinks he likes it.

But the man with the blond hair - and just how the hell did he ever mistake this guy for Adam, he wonders - turns him around and starts pushing him back against the wall. Facing the room again, Tommy catches a glimpse of Isaac, and he remembers that’s where he wants to be. He can’t exactly remember why, though. 

He can’t quite remember why he shouldn’t cut right across the room either, so, using a suggestive kiss and grind and a flippant, “Later,” as a distraction, he shimmies out of the stranger’s hold before pushing through the people standing around the edge of the dance floor, and he thinks that maybe something about the way he really fucking likes it when he feels a hand reach out and run across his chest should set off alarms, but it doesn’t. 

Tommy’s right in the middle of all the dancing, beautiful people, and when the music catches him and moves him, he almost feels like one of them. He’s never danced like this before, not in public, anyway. He feels a deep need in the way he’s moving - an unquenchable wanting - and even if he’s not quite focused enough to know what it is he wants and needs, he’s sure he must be telegraphing it to everyone around him, because these people seem to know what to do to make him feel better as hands and bodies move to his rhythm and touches become more intimate.

Maybe it’s not feeling better, exactly, because the more he gets, the more he wants. When he feels strong hands pull him back into a muscular body, he wants to go boneless and let whoever it is carry him away and do whatever they want to him. When he feels round, full breasts pressing against him, he wants to bury himself in them and explore their perfection. When he feels a hand of indeterminate gender cup his dick through his pants, he thrusts against it, silently begging for more.

Only maybe it’s not so silent begging, Tommy thinks, because he can hear himself moaning into the mouth that’s kissing him, and he has no idea whose mouth it is. He can feel his body moving and swaying and looking for warmth and friction as others press and grind against him, pulling him into their heat and rhythm.

When he feels the first hand reach under his shirt and brush teasingly over his nipple, he hisses because it only makes him want so fucking much more. The body behind him starts moving in time to the bass beat, and Tommy feels like he’s being fucked through his clothes, and it’s still not enough. The woman in front of him is riding him so hard, her body forming to his in all the right ways, making his dick practically beg for attention. The mouth that’s pressed to his, licking and sucking and collecting all the little wanton noises coming from him belongs to neither, but Tommy thinks it might be connected to the hands that he can feel popping the snap on his jeans and reaching in to finally give him some of the contact he fucking needs.

On some level, Tommy’s aware of the people watching the show his little group is putting on, but even though this isn’t who he is and what he does, he can’t make himself care enough to stop it. The part of his brain that’s still capable of rational thought tries to question why, but this feels too good to want to stop. Everything in his world has been reduced to sensation and gratification.

He likes the feeling of hands on him, of bodies pressed against his. He’s sure as shit okay with these people taking him apart, bit by bit, right here on the dance floor. Maybe then he can finally see who he is, what he needs.

Tommy feels hands pulling at his pants, slipping them down over his hips, letting the man behind him trace a finger over the top curve of his ass and slip down into the cleft between his cheeks, and he thinks this little party on the dancefloor is finally getting close to where he wants it to be. But then he feels new hands on him, hands that aren’t there to make him feel better, hands that are pulling at him, pulling him away from his new friends. 

His first thought is _Fuck, no!_ He’d deck the bastard who’s breaking up his fun, but he doesn’t think he can fucking coordinate his body enough to do it. He tries his best to focus on the newcomer, but he’s too damn fuzzy-headed. Tommy hears a voice saying, “Come on, man. You really don’t want to be doing this shit here,” and he thinks he knows that voice; he just can’t remember whose it is right now.

He tries to pull away, to rejoin the people who were starting to make him feel good, but he can’t keep his balance and stumbles. He feels arms catching him, helping him up, not letting go of him when he’s back on his feet. They’re not big arms, but they’re strong, and something about that is very much alright with him. He likes the way they feel against him, the way they make him feel.

He manages to turn even while still being held, and now he can recognize the face of the person who pulled him out of his dance. It’s Isaac, and wasn’t he trying to get to Isaac not that long ago? He can’t remember why, but being with Isaac seems like the best place to be right now - the safest place to be.

But he misses what the others were starting to do for him. He wants to feel that again; he _has_ to feel it again. Isaac could do what those beautiful dancing people were doing for him, and Isaac could do it a damn sight better. He just doesn’t know how to let Isaac know what it is he wants. Fuck, he can’t even put coherent words together. All he can manage are small, needy noises at the back of his throat that have Isaac looking at him strangely.

Tommy feels Isaac putting his clothes back in order, and that’s damn sure not what he wants. He needs to feel less clothing against his skin, not more. He needs to feel more skin against his own. Now that Isaac’s taken him away from the people who were perfectly happy giving him what he wanted, he figures Isaac’s gotta make up for it. 

He tries to tell Isaac all the things that are going through his mind, but they’re gone too quickly. The lights and sounds and colors and people of the club turn into a kaleidoscope of sensory overload, stealing his words but not the overwhelming need to be touched. But maybe Isaac knows him better than he thought, understands what he needs without Tommy telling him, because he can see something in Isaac’s eyes. A reflection of his own feelings, a desire of his own, what the fuck ever. Tommy knows it’s a promise he sees there; a promise of something better than the impersonal public sex with strangers that almost happened. Isaac’s eyes are telling him how they want to light him up and make him burn all night, and that’s enough for Tommy to let Isaac take him wherever he wants.

Isaac’s supporting him, guiding him, and he leans into that support. Tommy’s glad for Isaac’s hidden strength, something he’s known about since the first time they met. Pictures of Isaac playing shirtless, drops of sweat leaving trails down his neck and chest, muscles and tendons standing out in sharp relief, start flashing through Tommy’s mind, faster and faster, each one making him throb with pure _want_.

Tommy’s hands - fuck that, his whole fucking body - have a mind of their own as Isaac helps him over to where the rest of their group is waiting. He can’t keep his hands off of Isaac, and he sure as hell isn’t gonna move away from him. He thinks he likes this just fine - the way they’re all pressed up against each other - and if he gives Isaac the impression that he needs more support than he actually does, so the fuck what. 

It’s right and warm and safe here, and Tommy’s not planning on ever leaving Isaac’s side, not even when Adam looks into his eyes, and the worry comes through in his voice when he asks, “Are you okay, Tommy?” before pulling him into a hug. He just pulls Isaac right along with him, and Adam gets a two-fer.

“I think he thinks he needs me,” Isaac says, and Tommy thinks he’s trying to soothe some of the worry building on Adam’s face. Tommy doesn’t want Adam to worry about him, but when he tries to explain about predatory eyes and tongues that hide things slipping into his mouth, he just makes it worse, and Tommy sees that pensive look starting that means Adam’s gonna try and find a way to take all the blame for this.

Sure as shit, the next words out of Adam’s mouth are about getting everyone together, calling for a car, and taking Tommy back to the hotel. Like he fucking needs all of them to be his babysitters or some shit. He’s not quite getting all of it, but what he is getting is making him more than a little pissy. As much as he likes Adam’s big, strong arms holding him, he knows that’s all it would be. Adam would hold him all night if that’s what it would take, but it wouldn’t go any further. 

Right now Tommy’s practically shaking with need, and he knows that just being held isn’t gonna take care of it. But he remembers that look in Isaac’s eyes, that promise that he saw there, and he pulls in closer to Isaac. Isaac gets him, understands him better than anyone else, and Tommy knows Isaac will take care of him. 

And that’s the thing. It’s always been the thing between them. Adam’s a caretaker, a soother, the one person in any group who thinks they have to comfort and make things better, but Adam won’t let himself make this better, at least not better in the way Tommy needs. Isaac doesn’t have the same set of worries that Adam does. Things have always been more fluid between Tommy and Isaac. They never talk about it. They just know; they just feel. 

Tommy knows Isaac will take care of him all the way. Isaac will know what he needs, and he’ll make sure Tommy gets it, and to help prove that, Isaac holds him closer and lets Tommy bury his face against his neck while he assures Adam that he can take care of Tommy by himself.

Adam does insist on calling for a car. Tommy hopes it’s one of the big ones, or at least one with a privacy partition, because he doesn’t know if he’s gonna be able to hold off until they’re back at the hotel before he needs Isaac to give him a helping hand. He can feel the itch and the flames curling right up inside him, and he’s sure they’re not gonna wait until he’s back in the privacy of his room before they take over completely. 

Isaac helps him outside to wait for the car, and maybe Tommy’s a little free with letting his hands wander over Isaac’s body, but, shit, he loves the coiled strength and excitement he can feel just below the surface of Isaac’s skin. 

Tommy’s feeling bold, or needy, or something that he can’t quite put a name to right now, and he can still feel the thumpa-thumpa of the club’s music echoing in his bones as Isaac backs him up against the bricks of the building to wait for their ride. Tommy’s hands slide right up under Isaac’s shirt, looking for warmth, and Tommy lets them wander where they want, mapping every inch of Isaac they can reach.

Isaac grabs Tommy wrists, gently pulling his hands back down to his side. “Easy, Tommy. Just a little longer. I’ll help with anything you need. Promise you, man. Just hold on a little longer.”

They’re standing so close, Isaac using his body to keep Tommy pinned to the wall so he doesn’t decide it’s a good idea to stumble back into the club, and Tommy can feel the warmth of Isaac’s breath and the heat of Isaac’s body. Tommy’s trying to be good for Isaac, but it’s so fucking hard. He knows he can be really good for Isaac, just not in the way Isaac’s asking him to be right now.

Tommy throws his head back in frustration. He thinks he might even whine a little bit, but goddamn, he just wants to feel good. All that accomplishes is that now he can feel Isaac’s breath on his neck while he feels Isaac’s body pressed up against his. This is so close to what he needs but still too fucking far away, and Tommy knows he’s gonna die from the frustration before the damn car gets there.

Tommy feels Isaac’s lips right up against the skin of his throat when he says, “Just another few minutes, man,” and Tommy can’t fight the shiver it sends through his body. He presses and grinds against Isaac as much as he can, but it only makes him want more. He’s so far over the edge of knowing or caring who might be watching that he’d let Isaac fuck him right against this wall and tell him thank you when he was done.

Tommy feels Isaac pressing against him a little harder, and it’s like the fucking Fourth of July with all the sparks it sets off. He can feel the lick of flames building in his belly, and every nerve in his body is singing in anticipation. The whole of his world narrows down to this one point, this one moment, and all the want and need he’s feeling bounces back and forth with each heaving breath he manages to pull in.

His heart’s beating faster and harder with each passing second. It’s screaming at him from inside, and he knows he can’t stand this much longer. He can feel the prickle of sweat breaking out on his body, but the chills that come with it are enough to make him beg. He can hear the desperation in his own voice as he moans _Please_ and _Need it_ , and he can see how bad Isaac wants to give him whatever the hell he needs. He knows he’s not playing fair, but there are no fucking rules for this anyway. 

Isaac’s hands come up to hold Tommy’s head, his thumbs rubbing along Tommys jaw, and that’s nice; that’s good. Except it feels warm and fuzzy, and almost like an excuse. Tommy thinks he liked it better when Isaac was holding his wrists, because that meant Isaac was in charge and was gonna take what he wanted and make Tommy like it. This is too much like what Adam would do - like Isaac’s just gonna hold him all night and not give him what he has to have.

And when Isaac says, “I wanna, Tommy. I really fucking want to,” Tommy can hear the "but" at the end of it, even if Isaac doesn’t say it, and that shit just isn’t gonna happen. Isaac promised. He promised with his eyes, and he promised with his words, and Tommy’s not gonna let him out of it.

Tommy’s gonna get whatever the fuck he needs, and he’s gonna get it now, because he’s tired of waiting, and he’s tired of wanting. Isaac’s here, and Isaac _fucking promised_. Even through the haze of the music and the drinks and the drugs, Tommy knows how to push Isaac’s buttons to get what he wants, and he’s desperate enough to do it now because he can feel the pressure crushing him.

He sees Isaac as a dark outline against the faint lights of the street, but Isaac’s eyes are bright with desire, and Tommy can still make his racing mind focus on them. He rubs his cheek against Isaac’s hand because he needs the contact. His own hands come up to rest on Isaac’s hips, holding him close, holding him where he wants. 

Tommy’s fingers dip under the waistband of Isaac’s pants, teasing their way along the tender skin as they move. His hands are on a mission now, and they know all the tricks. They know how to make Isaac feel good; they know how to make Isaac want this as much as Tommy does.

When his hands find the front of Isaac’s jeans, they pop the button and reach down inside. He’s searching for the heat that will help him put out his own fire. He hears Isaac’s breath hitch as his fingers work lower, and he can’t help the way his body responds to that sound. His hips buck, and he grinds against Isaac, letting his anticipation grow as he feels Isaac’s hard dick pressing against him.

Isaac’s voice is low and husky when he tries to reason with Tommy. “Not here, man. Anybody could see. Wait just a little longer, okay? I promise I’ll take care of you, Tommy.”

But Tommy’s so fucking hard and tired of waiting. He knows they’re far enough away from the club’s entrance to be out of the line of fire of the paps who are here to catch the A-listers trying to quietly leave in drunken splendor. They’re off in the shadowed land. They’re peripheral people; they’re nobodies. They’re invisible to all the people who belong to the favored crowd. 

Tommy’s body is moving against Isaac’s in quick, little fucks, trying to find the rhythm and the friction he needs. His hand finds Isaac’s dick, and his fingers stroke and dance and twirl and tease until Isaac’s in the same headspace as Tommy. Tommy can tell how far he’s already pushed Isaac, but he can’t resist that one last press and tug. He can see Isaac’s mouth, lips parted in an effort to draw in more air, and Tommy fucking understands that feeling. He can’t help leaning in to kiss the corner of it, gently at first, but working his way up to more, maybe even leaving a mark that Isaac’ll have a hell of a time trying to explain later. He sucks on Isaac’s bottom lip as he nips, and his tongue follows, soothing the small hurts he’s leaving. 

Tommy’s body is humming and thrumming now. He’s tripwire tight, and when he feels Isaac’s hands on his skin, working their way up under his shirt, he can’t help the way he pushes into Isaac. He whispers in Isaac’s ear, asking if he can feel it, too - if he can feel it kicking in - and Isaac’s moan is enough of an answer for Tommy.

Isaac’s hands work all the way up under Tommy’s shirt, pushing it up and out of the way as they go. Tommy can’t wait to feel Isaac pressed against that naked skin, but before he can get that far, Isaac spins him around so he feels the ragged edges of the brick wall biting into his chest and face. It’s not what he thought he wanted, but he thinks maybe it might be what he needs because it makes him feel; it makes him aware. He needs to focus on what Isaac’s doing to him, and for him, and the roughness of the bricks pulls him back down from the clouds that are trying to live in his mind.

He feels Isaac leaning in heavy against him, and he can feel Isaac’s promise in the heated breath against the back of his neck. He can still feel just the tiniest bit of waver in Isaac, too. Tommy doesn’t have much breath to spare, but he has enough to say, “Just fucking do it, man.” He’s so close to what he’s been looking for all night, and he wants Isaac to be the one to take him there. 

When Isaac reaches around and unbuttons Tommy’s jeans, Tommy can feel the heat pooling in the pit of his belly, ready to burn right through him. He can feel Isaac’s weight pushing him against the wall, and he has to use his hands to brace himself. He can feel the cool night air working its way against his overheated body as Isaac works his jeans down over Tommy’s hips. 

And when Tommy feels Isaac’s hands on his ass, fingers kneading and fondling the round, firm flesh, while his thumbs work down the cleft between, Tommy’s whole body explodes with begging and pleading and searching for release.

Tommy whimpers, and Isaac answers with the most amazing sound Tommy’s ever heard. It’s a sound of desperation and desire, and Tommy feels more than a little bit of pride over having caused it. He can hear the ragged edge in Isaac’s voice when he says, “Can’t do this here, man.”

Tommy sags against the building, because, fucking hell, they were almost there. His ass and his dick are begging to be taken care of, and he’s ready to grab anyone who might be willing to help him take care of things. Except he wants Isaac. He wants to feel Isaac’s hands on him. He wants Isaac to leave marks on him. He needs to know that Isaac’s willing to do this for him.

Maybe it’s because whatever the girl slipped him is already starting to wear off, but he can think a little more clearly now, even if his dick is still hard as all hell and aching to be touched. He knows it has to be Isaac who takes care of him tonight, and Isaac’s gonna have to take care of him all the way.

Tommy can feel tears of frustration prickling at the corners of his eyes, and that’s all he fucking needs, isn’t it? It’s not bad enough that he’s standing here, hard as a fucking rock, with Isaac’s hands still on his bare ass, just teasing the hell out of him. No, now he’s about to start crying like a damn baby.

There’s no way he’s gonna live through the night like this, though. Especially not with Isaac’s hands still rubbing all over his ass, and Isaac’s dick pressing up against him. Fucking Isaac’s fucking teasing him. If he’s not gonna give Tommy what he needs, why the hell is he still there?

When he hears Isaac’s voice again, Tommy almost doesn’t recognize it. Isaac sounds as wrecked as Tommy feels, but it’s not like knowing that Isaac’s suffering too helps Tommy feel any better. It’s not until Tommy clears the fog out of his mind enough to be able to focus on Isaac’s words that things seem to get a little better. He picks up what Isaac’s saying in the middle of a sentence, but it’s enough for him to understand what he means.

“...fucking beautiful, man, all spread out like this. So ready. So needy.” Isaac’s hand reaches around for a slow pull on Tommy’s dick, and it’s so perfect - or it would be if he knew it was gonna go further. As it is, Tommy has to brace himself against the wall with his hands to keep from pressing into Isaac’s hand. There are still some places he’s not anxious to introduce to the hard edges of the bricks.

He can feel the heat of Isaac’s breath and words as they wash over the back of his neck, and he has to pull himself back from wanting to just fucking _be_ in order to understand him again. “Can’t do it this way, Tommy. Can’t do it dry and dirty.”

Tommy's whole world flashes then, because he knows he’s got this. If that’s all that’s stopping Isaac, Tommy knows he’s got it covered. He just has to breathe a second so he can remember how to think. He lets his head rest against the wall, and his short, quick breaths bounce back at him. He’s getting lost in the feeling of what Isaac’s doing to him, lost in the pressure that’s building inside, but he’s gotta tell Isaac that it’s fucking okay, that Isaac can do what he has to do to take care of him.

Tipping his head back against Isaac’s shoulder, he finally manages to get the damn words out between hot breaths. “Front jacket pocket. Right side. It’s all there, man. Just fucking do it, okay?”

Tommy can feel the shakes and the tremors and his own fucking heartbeat trying to tear him apart, and he can’t breathe when Isaac’s hand lets go of his dick to reach in his pocket. He’s not sure Isaac even knows what he’s looking for in there, but Tommy thinks he’ll find the lube and condoms quick enough. He hopes to hell he will, anyway. He’s positive he’s really fucking gonna die right here if he can’t get off soon.

He can tell the second that Isaac realizes what treasures are hidden in that magic pocket, because his whole body tightens, including the fingers that are pressing into Tommy’s hip. He can tell there are gonna be bruises there, but wearing Isaac’s mark for the next few days isn’t something Tommy’s opposed to at all.

What he _is_ opposed to is Isaac letting go of him with both hands. Some part of his brain might be able to rationalize what’s going on and realize that Isaac needs his hands to open tricky little packets, and roll on condoms, and get everything slicked up, but his need for contact and speed is stronger. Tommy can’t help squirming and pressing back against Isaac, even if he knows it’ll just make it harder for Isaac to take care of what he needs to take care of before he can take care of Tommy.

Tommy’s a little surprised - and a lot happy - when it doesn’t take Isaac as long as he thought it would to get ready to finally fucking party. And he might just be smiling a little inside at the idea of how worked up that means Isaac is. But if he is smiling a little, it's just a damn tiny part of him, because the rest of him is busy being a sweaty, panting mess of nothing but desire and lust.

He feels Isaac’s hands on his ass again, and he takes in an open mouthed gulp of air and swallows it down. This time Isaac doesn’t tease, though. This time when Isaac uses his thumbs to spread Tommy’s cheeks, he lets one poke right into Tommy’s hole, and Tommy’s whole body goes rigid with the feeling of _fucking finally_. He presses back on Isaac, forcing his thumb all the way in. 

Tommy’s walking that fine line now, and he knows he’s gotta trust Isaac to set the pace. He’s beyond thinking about actions having reactions, and given the opportunity, he’d damn the consequences and go full speed until he gets what he wants.

Isaac doesn’t take long opening Tommy up, but it feels like an eternity to him. Each time Isaac’s fingers scissor inside of him, sending sparks flying, each slow drag of Isaac’s hand on his dick, each beautiful, filthy word that comes out of Isaac’s mouth, all add to the burn that’s taking over Tommy’s body. He’s hanging on by his fucking fingertips now, clutching for whatever he can find.

When he feels Isaac pulling his fingers out, he wants to cry, but he knows what’s coming next. He thinks Isaac will probably try and go slow, but that’s not what he needs right now. He needs to really feel it; he needs to have it stay with him for as long as possible. He pushes back against Isaac, taking him in all in one go, and he feels his own dick jump when Isaac hisses in surprise. 

He waits for a second, and then another, before grinding against Isaac, because there’s been enough wasted time tonight. Somebody’s gonna damn well fuck him now, and since Isaac’s the one whose dick is in his ass, Tommy figures it’s up to him to get things going. 

Isaac takes the hint, and starts rocking in and out, his hand pumping Tommy’s dick in time to the fucks. Tommy doesn’t think he’s gonna last long, but this is perfection, and he wants to hold on and ride it as far as he can. He’s living in the feeling of Isaac’s strong hands, one taking care of his dick, while the other holds him in place. He’s so fucking lost in the feeling of Isaac taking care of him, setting the pace and making sure Tommy’s feeling it and rocking to it. 

Tommy knows things are building too quickly, though, and he concentrates on the rhythm Isaac’s set. That helps some, but when Tommy feels Isaac’s teeth on the back of his neck, he’s gone. There’s something so damn possessive about that. Fucking out in the open is one thing, but Isaac feeling the need to mark him up for the whole fucking world to see sends Tommy right over the edge.

He feels his belly and his balls tighten up, and then everything goes fuzzy and furry and gray. He’s never had a complete whiteout before, and when he comes back to himself, he surprised to find he’s still standing. Or as close to standing as he can get. Isaac’s doing a damn fine job keeping him upright, but Isaac’s in the middle of something and it doesn’t feel like he wants it to slip away.

Now that Tommy’s not feeling the hard edge anymore, he can finally appreciate all the intricacies of Isaac’s sense of rhythm. If he hadn’t just had the orgasm of his life, he thinks he might even be getting hard again. There’s a little syncopated stutter in what Isaac’s doing that makes Tommy’s heart skip a beat, and they might have to explore that further when they get back to the hotel.

When Isaac’s timing goes to shit, Tommy knows that he’s close. He tries to help out by reaching one arm back to pull Isaac in for a kiss. But Tommy’s timing’s shit tonight, too, and just then Isaac fucks into him hard and fast, and Tommy’s chest hits the brick wall hard. He hisses and strains as he feels the coarse brick scraping his skin. He counts it as another mark to remember the night by. His whole body tenses and tightens with the sting of it though, and that’s more than Isaac can take. 

With one last thrust, Isaac hits his own end, and Tommy loves it when he feels Isaac start twitching and his muscles lock as he comes. Tommy tries his best to hold still until Isaac’s finished, but he wants to turn around and fuck Isaac’s mouth with his tongue while he’s still blissed out. He loves the way Isaac looks when he’s like this. Besides, Tommy thinks Isaac might just need someone to hold him up now.

They trade kisses while they help each other get put back together. Tommy wouldn’t be able to button a fucking button if his life depended on it, but Isaac’s fingers are talented, and he’s damn good at multitasking. Isaac manages to make them both presentable, just as the headlights of a car splash them with light. 

Isaac’s voice isn’t quite as wrecked as it was when he says, “I think that’s our ride, man. Wanna take this back to the hotel for round two?”

Tommy answers with the only thing he can think of. “Fuck, yeah.” This has definitely been a _fuck, yeah_ kinda night.


End file.
